Is Adderall The Same As Speed?

Is Adderall Speed?

Adderall and speed comparisons are typically very accurate. As an amphetamine, Adderall is, in the slang use of the word… “speed.” Adderall speed comparisons show that Adderall is basically speed, in relation to how its effects are very similar. Speed is just another name for an amphetamine, Adderall speed is an amphetamine, plain and simple. Adderall speed tendencies are very common. Because the drug is an amphetamine, it can give a very speedy and euphoric effect.

The Book

The bottom part of this post will focus on the issues that Adderall can cause while not drinking. Read the chapters though, it gives you a first-hand look at what Adderall addiction is like, and there’s plenty in there of me not being able to sleep. You’ll be able to read the next chapter at the link at the bottom of this blog post. You need a doctor’s prescription to get Adderall and even then don’t take it as it’s very dangerous.

Chapter 27

Noticeably still drained, I slept through the rest of the school day and arrived home finally hungry. I prepared myself a meal and tried to sleep off the rest of my crash for a few hours before ingesting another few pills. Something happened nearly an hour later however that although excited me, I felt it would be the end of me. “James, I refilled your prescription, how was school.” Refilled it? I was using a dose much higher than prescribed, how could you have refilled it? I thought to myself. I waited for her to leave later that night before reaching up for my new bottle of pills, excited, but ever so confused as to why I was getting more pills than I had bargained for.

The trial had already passed, and months had passed since I had an alternate prescription besides the norm. However, as I soon realized, my mother refilled the pills over a week before each prescription before it was filled, giving me an additional seven pills every month. I grabbed a handful from the new bottle and put it in my pocket and another handful and placed it into the old bottle to make it seem as if I was underusing it rather than the opposing truth. I raised my arm in excitement and triumph that I had landed on such a mistake in the place of my mother, and was soon greeted by a text message as I lay back in bed a few minutes later.

“After all, you did at lunch, you better at least call me on my birthday or something” I read off the text screen from Camila, still incredibly sleepy at such an early hour in the day. I wanted to just ignore it, just wait a few days to get healthier and talk to her about it then. After ignoring her more than usual, however, I decided to pursue and even stretch out the conversation. “I know, I know, and I did something even better, I actually got you something,” I told this more as a way to carry on conversation and entertain my pleasure deprived brain, but actually managed to get out of bed and throw together an old gift card I hadn’t used since Christmas.

I received the text message back almost immediately “You what! I, I love you, it’s official!” I rolled my eyes at the childish text message, but at the same time actually began to feel good inside, and smiled at it. I waited several minutes before messaging her back “yeah, yeah, so what are you doing for your birthday?”

I asked. “Nothing really, she replied, my parents just took me to dinner.” “Well, that sucks” I replied, thinking about what I would like to do for a party on my birthday and empathizing myself in those shoes. “Not really” she replied, “I love my parents and my dad’s not crazy like yours it.” I started to laugh and replied back “yeah whatever, just because you love your parents doesn’t entirely believe I don’t love mine…..does it? I just don’t like them, I mean, they’re extremely overprotective.” I sent back. “Mine are even more overprotective” she replied, “and it’s because well, I’ve been sick ever since like the seventh grade.” My heart sank, and I nearly started to tear up as I realized this was going to be an emotional conversation “sick like how?” I responded. I waited nearly half an hour this time before my phone vibrated with a long, almost two-page text message.

“Well, I was born with it, but the symptoms didn’t start coming on until like the seventh grade. I cough up a lot of blood, and I have to constantly drink water and eat a ton of food to keep up normal body weight. It’s called leukemia and it’s also why I get pneumonia almost annually and why I get the flu a lot. They said I’ll be lucky if I live into my twenties. Honestly, that’s probably why I don’t believe in God either, just because, you know.”

Immediately a tear fell down my face and I couldn’t tell if it was the drug withdrawal that had overly depressed me, or if it was my actual emotions feeling incredibly sympathetic for her in my current state of mind. “Oh my God, I had no idea. I, I don’t know what to say. I can’t believe I said all that stuff to you about being atheist and everything, I’m really sorry” I replied. “That’s the reaction I get out of most people, they usually start to feel bad for me because I’m sick and then they start being really nice to me.”

I held back the tears and thought of something witty to say. I knew it was a gigantic risk but I went ahead and replied “well don’t expect that out of me” and added a smiley face. Immediately I received a text message full of giggles and hearts, and I could tell I had managed to at least cheer her up a little. “How many people do you tell about this?” I asked her. “Only my closest friends,” she said. I felt glad that she considered me such a friend, while at the same time, tried to resist the grief that was building up in my chest and behind my eyes from the still fully present withdrawals.

I ended the conversation, told her happy birthday, and said I had to go. I found some old wrapping paper underneath my bed, put the gift card in an old box, wrapped it u and tossed it into my backpack. The next day, I took one of the extended release pills I had grabbed from my bottle, trying to reserve my prescription enough so I could double or triple it when needed, and went off to school feeling less than normal.

“Class, open your books to the turtle story on page fifty-five and read it to yourselves for the rest of the period.” All my sad emotions, my attempts to resist crying, and my brain not quite being a hundred percent made this short story nearly impossible to read. I put my head down and slept for much of the class, my kidney’s still immensely hurting and my appetite now completely gone.

Lunch rolled around and I visited Camila, hardly waiting to talk to her about the in-depth conversation we’d had the previous night until the rest of my friends had scattered. “I was literally crying last night.” She giggled a little before presenting a look of shock while the rest of my friends crowded around in awe. “Crying about what?” One of them asked, wanting to be included in the drama.

I shot a look towards Camila, wondering whether or not I should give out a hint as to what we were talking about. “Just something from an um, TV show we watched.” I couldn’t resist the urge to laugh and had to bite my tongue to compensate. “Yeah, just something from TV we watched.” From how private the conversation actually was, I really understood the severity of the disease, and why she didn’t like to talk about it. It scared me, and I began to feel scared for her as well as sorry for her.

“Camila, wait up,” I called after her once the bell rang and everyone began to march towards their classrooms. “Oh my God!” She said in cheerful laughter as I handed her a poorly wrapped birthday present with Santa Clause wrapping paper on it. “Just you know. Don’t open it until you get home” I said with a smile as we casually talked on the rest of the way to class.

“Okay,” she said, before hugging me goodbye, and going off to class. Immediately the headaches started to become bothersome again, and even the carryover effect of the drug was completely gone. My mind was foggy, and the thought of reading a single page seemed impossible to me. “Alright class, please put your books away.” My Spanish teacher dictated to the class “we are going to have our chapter test, take out a number two pencil; you may begin as soon as you get the test.”

“Oh boy,” I thought to myself as my mind screamed out for nothing but food, water, and sleep. I tried to read the test and tried my best to understand it. My mind was not at its best, and I knew that even in ninety minutes, this test was not getting done. 75 questions were not what I needed right now, and I knew that bombing this test would drastically lower my grade. I waited a few minutes and bubbled in a few random answers.

Another ten minutes, and another few answers; the cycle continued until the end of class when I mustered up every last bit of energy I had to stand up and walk across the room to turn in my test, experiencing blurred vision and an extreme urge to faint. My Spanish teacher gave me a look of curiosity like she had expected more emotion in my face than I was showing. I felt light-headed, and didn’t care about disrespect to adults at this point; I didn’t have the energy for a proper greeting.

The walk to the final period continued in much the same way, and I struggled to just keep my balance and fight off the increasingly severe vertigo as I made my way to my seat, where I could finally relax. Another class period, another nap; It wasn’t until the walk home from school that I actually began to feel somewhat refreshed from sleeping so much, (although I was still slightly groggy), and before I was actually able to walk normally without feeling like I was going to faint. When I arrived home, however, I was constantly being harassed by my mother about not doing my online class for two weeks straight, and for failing my Spanish test which had already been graded. I was too tired to give my usual ridiculous explanation.

I lay down on the bed, only to come out of my room for dinner before returning to my sleep chambers once again. The next morning, however, my mother finally started to notice that something was going on; however was easily sidetracked by my lies. “Honey its noon. Why do you look so tired, you’ve been asleep for over fourteen hours. What’s wrong with you”? What she didn’t know was that I had actually been asleep a lot longer than that, which seemed to be all I could think about as I shook in my socks, and my temporarily drug impaired brain tried to think of an explanation for everything. “Yeah mom, I think I’m just getting sick. Sorry.”

Suddenly, her mood quickly went from an angry, paranoid and suspicious facial expression, to a worried one, a loving and caring one-a mother’s normal face “no, I’m sorry you don’t have to apologize” she said, finally leaving the room. My worries depleted as I knew she had dropped her guard completely, and I could take a sigh of relief. I walked back into my room, and tried to endure the pain of withdrawals; dropping my tolerance level and trying to manage my stash for what I knew would soon be an extremely increased dosage.

End of Excerpt*

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